


Riptide

by jhoom



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blowjobs, Dub!Con, M/M, Mpreg, Mute!Cas, Oviposition, Tentacle Sex, Top!Cas, bottom!Dean, octo!cas, sailor!Dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-09-28 19:28:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20431226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jhoom/pseuds/jhoom
Summary: When Dean’s crew mutinies and abandons him on a deserted island, Dean assumes his life is over. When he meets a strange creature, watching his every move, he finds out it’s quite the opposite…





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again, i've been lurking in the Profound Bond discord server and telling a story in their story time channel :) this one is pwp that grew some plot and decided to be far longer than i'd envisioned XD
> 
> i'll be posting once a week ish. the story is almost complete, and the once a week updates allow me to go back and edit on a reasonable schedule
> 
> as always, come visit me on tumblr [@jhoomwrites](http://jhoomwrites.tumblr.com) and yell with me about destiel
> 
> *note* i've included info about the dub!con tag in the end notes of this chapter for those who are curious ahead of time!

Dean's been marooned on this island damn near a week now, and it's driving him crazy. 

Don't get him wrong, it's a nice island. Gentle breezes, beautiful views, trees to give him shade and fire wood, a small spring with fresh water. It's a fine island, and in many respects he's lucky his treacherous crew dumped him here instead of somewhere much worse, like the middle of the ocean. None of that changes that he's  _ trapped _ here, though.

And, truth be told, there's something else. A prickle on the back of his neck when he's on the beach. The inescapable feeling that he's being watched.

He must be losing his mind, because he hasn't even caught sight of a gull or mouse on the island, never mind anything bigger. It's just him and the fish.

... Still, it's a feeling he can't escape, and it makes him uneasy. He wakes up in a cold sweat at night, looking for the unknown thing lurking just out of sight.

He supposes being alone is putting him on edge, and short of escaping this place, he'll simply have to do his best to ignore it.

The real saving grace of this island is the shallow pools that form each night. 

The tide is fierce, keeping Dean from venturing into the water most of the day, but it vanishes come evening. It leaves behind pools of water in the volcanic rock beneath the surface, little rings of water filled with trapped fish. All night, he picks through them for oysters, clams, mussels, whatever he can find while he smokes some of the larger fish for dinner. 

It might be damn hard to see sometimes, but he enjoys the nighttime best. There's no sun beating down his back, blinding him, burning him. The fire might even serve as a decent beacon for ships passing by, though Dean's not holding his breath on that one. It's peaceful, and with the task is collecting food, his mind is mercifully blank from the fears that plague him all day.

He usually sings or hums a tune, a song he learned at his mother's knee or by his father's side as he learned to sail. Tonight it's a song he only remembers the tune of, a lively one meant for dancing and celebration, and as he whistles he sways a little with an invisible dance partner.

He freezes dead when he hears an answering whistle from the dark waves out at sea.

He hesitates, some ancient fear gripping him. He's heard tales of what lurks in the deep, out of sight from human eyes. All manner of creatures that feed on careless sailors, tempting them with unknown wiles. Stuck on an island, it's only a matter of time until Dean would fall prey to any that have chosen to stalk him.

With a shake of his head, he forces himself to ignore those boyhood fears. It's nonsense. It could be a boat, possible rescue, or at worst just an echo. 

Licking his lips, he calls, "Hello?"

Silence greets him. The slow ebb and flow of the waves continues, his only companion in the dark, and gradually Dean's heart calms. 

There's nothing— 

A sharp whistle, closer than before, recites back a tune Dean sung a day or so ago. There's a haunting beauty to it... and something unmistakably inhuman.

No echo then. 

Not a rescue.

Dean drops that night's haul and flees to the safety of the shore.

The whistle, now with a disappointed note, follows him until it's so faint it dies on the wind.

Dean stays away from the water after that. He keeps close to his fire and only wanders into the nearest pool to grab what food he can before he retreats to solid ground. Bad enough to be trapped here, he doesn't want to be eaten by some monster looking for an easy meal. 

He even goes so far as to create a makeshift spear. At his most generous, even Dean thinks it's rather pathetic, but holding the weight of it in his hands is a comfort. 

Three days of hiding, and he nearly has a heart attack. It's noon, with a clear sky overhead, yet just as clearly, he hears a whistle from the water. 

Gods save him, he turns to look. There, deeper than Dean could safely swim without fear of the riptide, is a man. 

He treads water, pale wet skin visible along with a mop of dark hair, and waves to Dean with a broad smile. Perhaps the distance is enough to fool many, to make the creature look human, to maybe call him handsome, but goosebumps dot Dean's arms. His instincts are all on edge, screaming that he should not trust what his eyes are telling him. 

His grip tightens on the spear. 

"Go away!" Dean shouts. "I won't come near and I expect the same courtesy! No harm need come to either of us!"

The man tilts his head to the side in confusion. 

Great, the damn sea bastard probably doesn't even speak English. 

Dean brandishes his spear and points out to the open sea. "Go! Let me die in peace!"

The man turns his head, following the line of Dean's sight, then turns back to him and stares.

"I said go!" Despite his better judgement, Dean takes a step forward. "Leave me alone."

The man whistles a trio of notes, low and deep. He doesn't move.

In a panic, Dean lifts the spear and takes aim. All he needs is to scare the damn thing away, and if he hurts it, all the better. He flings the spear with all his night, and it hits the water near the creature with a huge splash. 

When the water settles, both spear and man are gone.

Good riddance.

Pity. If he weren't sure the man wasn't a man at all, Dean would've enjoyed the company.

~ ~ ~

To his chagrin, he wakes the next day to find the spear sticking out of the sand not ten feet away from the gathered brush that serves as his bed. 

He gets up and inspects it in awe. There are small changes—the blade has been sharpened, tight roles of seaweed keeping it in place—but more than that, Dean sees it for what it is: a message from the creature.

_ I can go on the beach if I wish, you are not safe here. I mean you no harm, for if I did, you'd already be dead _ .

Lovely.

After he gets over the shock and the invasion of his personal space, Dean actually relaxes. There's nothing he can do, no action he can take to keep the creature away, so the burden is no longer his. If something happens, it happens, and it will be no fault of Dean's. 

It's not quite trust, it's a long way from that, but it's a truce. He'll take it.

The day's brutally hot. Even so, Dean is wary of the water. He's sure no power on Earth could convince him to go for a leisurely swim to escape the heat. Either the riptide would take him, or worse.

As the sun reaches its zenith, he begrudgingly reconsiders. Sweat drips from him, his brow is caked with salt, and his already dirty clothes reek where they cling to him.

A swim might be too much for the tentative truce, but surely wading in the shallows would be safe. The creature can go on land, but so long as his feet are on solid ground, Dean has a fighting chance. Maybe even an advantage.

And with that overconfidence and bravado, Dean takes his spear in hand and makes for the beach.

He earns no more than a few minutes respite before a familiar feeling makes him shudder. 

This time, he knows to look out towards the horizon for the eyes watching him.

The man is there, as expected. He's still at a distance, too far for the visual clues that can only confirm his otherness instead of refute it. Not so far that Dean can't make out prominent cheekbones and full lips, no matter how much he wishes he couldn't.

Wishful thinking, surely.

Though dozens of yards separate them, Dean can distinctly make out a friendly smile and a whistle.

Dean nods in acknowledgement, fist tightening around the shaft of the spear, and he offers a whistle back. He mimics the notes the creature already learned from him, then forces himself to turn away and go about his business.

Throughout the day, he can hear the whistles. On occasion, in those rare moments Dean actually forgets he's not alone, he's haunted by the inhuman melodies. 

Each time, Dean dutifully waves and echoes the same notes back to him.

It makes him over weary, the strain of knowing he's under constant watch, so much that he all but collapses after a quick meal. If this is the creature's game, to wear him down and make an easy meal of him, it won't take long for it to work.

Sure enough, there seems to be a method to the creature's behavior. Each day he ventures closer to the shore. He demands Dean's attention with insistent whistles that only stop when Dean answers them.

But every day that passes without any attack, each night he survives intact, Dean is more confident that he's not some convenient dinner for the creature. He insists on Dean's attention, toes the line of Dean's boundaries, but Dean is convinced it's out of curiosity. Dean might be the only human he's ever seen, after all. A little curiosity is to be expected.

And most interesting of all, Dean learns the creature is smart.

He starts mimicking Dean. A friendly wave in greeting, a hand to shield his eyes from the sun, a stone skipping across the waves. 

And then there's the music.

It starts simply enough. He whistles back each tune he'd collected from Dean, all faithfully. His memory is astounding, but then he plays around with the notes. His own improvised songs are beautiful, more so than anything Dean could hope to compose.

He can't deny it, he likes listening to the creature's new melodies that lull him to sleep each night. It's nice, peaceful, and makes Dean feel less lonely. 

Surely that’s something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dub!con: while dean is completely on board for everything that eventually happens, there is little to no communication that can happen between dean/cas beforehand.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yaay! another chapter :) 
> 
> since this story is finished and done (aside from my editing), i've decided to do the same posting schedule i did for seaside rendezvous - i'll be posting updates every monday and thursday. they might be as short as this one or a bit longer, it really just depends on where there's a convenient breaking point. the story came in at just around 18.5k (y'know, this story that was completely intended as pwp...... *cries*)
> 
> i also wanted to point out that if you have any questions about the erhm... worldbuilding... anatomy... stuff, to feel free and ask. i spent far too much time considering it but most of it won't actually make it into the story since it's all dean's pov and dean won't ever find out a lot of it.

It's this loneliness coupled with a profound boredom that spurs on what happens next. 

If it were his own ship that had wrecked here, he could fill his days with repairs. If he had  _ tools _ , he could perhaps construct a raft. But no, the damn mutineers left him nothing but a half empty canteen, the clothes on his back, and out of pity a knife, likely expecting him to kill himself once the true reality of his plight set in. Either that, or they thought Dean would pick a direction and swim out to sea, put his hope into finding his salvation by chance instead of succumbing to fatigue as his lungs futilely sucked in mouthfuls of briney water. 

What they didn't count on—what  _ no one _ could have counted on—was the creature. Its mere presence keeps Dean's mind alert, always focused on the possibilities tomorrow might bring. He's a mystery, and a mystery is more than enough for Dean to keep going. 

Besides, what better way to solve his boredom and loneliness than spending more time with his obviously willing companion?

There are two lone coconut trees on one end of the island, and he picks through the coconuts to find one that will do well. Wading out as far as he dares with the tide still at full force, he tosses the coconut up and down, up and down to get a feel for its weight. It's not as forgiving as the leather balls he'd had as a boy at home, strong but smooth, but it's more than adequate for a game of catch. All he needs now is a partner— 

A splash, a whistle, and Dean knows he's in business. 

He beckons the creature over. It cocks his head at him. Dean has no doubt it understands the gesture, and its hesitance is appreciated if not counterproductive to what Dean currently has in mind. Again, Dean motions him forward. 

"Yeah, I know, I said keep back. I changed my mind. C'mere."

He doubts the creature understands a word of it, but Dean's gestures and tone must be enough to convey the meaning, because slowly he circles forward. When he gets within fifteen feet, Dean puts up his hand urgently. 

"Right there'll do. I uh... I know you ain't human, but I don't think I'm quite ready to find out  _ what _ you are yet."

The creature squints but nods, as if he completely understands. 

This close, all Dean’s earlier speculations about how attractive he is are proved grossly inadequate; the creature, who he’d thought handsome from a distance, is positively  _ gorgeous _ . 

"I'm Dean by the way." He points emphatically to himself. "Dean," he says again and enunciates it ridiculously. " ** _Dean_ ** ."

The creature makes a noise that could maybe be counted as 'Dean' if it were said by someone with their mouth full. He watches the creature's mouth move, one that he notes is full of sharp teeth and a narrow, forked tongue, and he thinks there's no way the right sounds will ever come out of there. 

"Yeah," Dean says with an approving nod, even though he's somewhat haunted by the sound.

Up close, there's no mistaking how inhuman the creature is. Aside from the teeth, his skin has a bluish greenish sheen to it. It seems to shine in the light, perpetually wet and slick. His eyes, gods his eyes are an ethereal blue that Dean thinks must hold the secrets of the ocean deep in them. They're gorgeous though eerie, and Dean isn't completely sure looking into them is a good idea, for he can already feel himself falling under the creature's spell.

Which is absurd. There's no magic here, just raw charm and Dean's own curiosity welling up inside him. How many years as he sailed the seas and never seen something so magnificent as this creature before him? What other wonders has he been missing out on?

Strangest of all, the alienness does nothing to detract from the creature’s beauty. If anything it adds to it, giving him an aura, a presence that goes beyond the physical. 

He's startled when he sees the creature point to his own chest. He waits until he's sure he has Dean's full attention, then makes a noise that's half screech, half rush of water down a cliff. When he'd mimicked Dean's name, it hadn't hurt Dean's ears like this, but now the creature's true language has him putting his hands over his ears and wishing the sound would end and never, ever come back. 

When he's done, the creature has the decency to look apologetic.

"I'm gonna call you Cas," Dean says. There's a ringing in his ears, but he's pretty sure that hiss of a noise at the beginning could be a Cas. Close enough.

The creature—Cas, as he’s now been christened—gives a half shrug in acceptance. Dean can practically hear the dismissive 'close enough' to echo his own.

"Yeah, I'm going to ask you not talk." He motions to Cas' throat and then shakes his head. "Probably really good for underwater talking or whatever, but you're gonna make my ears bleed you do too much of that."

Cas points to his own throat, opens his mouth, then snaps it shut and shakes his head.  _ I won't say a word. _

"Well, now that's settled..." The coconut bobs in the water a few feet away, lost and nearly forgotten. He picks it up and holds it up. "Let's play ball."

Dean tosses the coconut into the air once, twice, three times and deftly catches it each time. He smiles at Cas, who watches intently like it's some cryptic puzzle he must figure out. 

"Ready?" he asks. He motions that he's going to throw it, and then very delicately throws it to Cas. "Catch!"

The creature puts out his hands and awkwardly catches the coconut at arms length. He looks stiff, unsure of himself, and Dean can't help but chuckle. All that confidence as he worms his way into Dean's life, and he's worried about a simple human game. 

"Good," Dean says soothingly. He motions with both hands. "Now throw it back."

Cas is skeptical, clearly questioning the purpose of such an activity, and hesitantly throws it back just as gently as Dean did to him. The aim is a little off and Dean has to jump forward to reach it, which causes him to splash himself with salt water.

As he wipes his face and shakes out his hair, he notices Cas' shit eating grin. 

Oh yeah? Well two can play that game.

The game quickly progresses from there, each hurling the makeshift ball as hard as they can and each aiming very so slightly off center. The result is Dean making a damned fool of himself as he dives this way and that in an effort to make every catch. He does, but he's soaked and nearly choking from triumphant laughter.

Cas is harder to catch unawares. There's no undignified splashing, merely a slight adjustment and magically Cas is where he needs to be. It speaks to something going on beneath the surface, some unseen ministrations of an inhuman appendage that gives Cas the upper hand in their little competition. 

It should be creepy, it really should, yet the easy way Cas moves through the water has Dean entranced.

"Hey Cas," he yells and pulls back his arm. "Go long!"

He lobs the coconut as far as he can. It sails well over Cas' head. The creature watches, plots the trajectory, then slips down beneath the water. Mere seconds later, he resurfaces and catches the coconut before it can even skim the surface.

Damn, he can move  _ fast _ .

He rides a wave back to Dean with the barest hint of something moving just beneath the surface. He's still mindful of the invisible line Dean drew and stops the wave from carrying him too close. That's something, that he won't push Dean too much. 

"Good uh... good job," Dean says lamely. Thankfully Cas can't understand him well enough to see how overwhelmed Dean feels right now. "I should let you... do whatever it is you do all day. I should uh... I should eat or rest or something."

Unceremoniously he turns and all but runs back to shore. He nearly has a heart attack when the coconut lands on the sand a few feet in front of him. He turns back out of habit. Cas is gone, and he suddenly misses him.

That's the problem, isn't it? He likes Cas. He'd probably enjoy anyone's company at this point, but he's sure he likes Cas just for... well, for being Cas. 

Worse, Dean's not unaware of his own growing attraction to the creature. The human parts, anyway. The blue eyes, the messy hair, the toned muscle always on display...

If Cas were human...

He's definitely not, though.

_ You're just lonely _ , Dean tells himself.  _ Anyone's smiles would have the same effect. _

While that might in part be true, that any warm body would do, the way his heart flutters when he watches Cas seems like more. He rarely enjoys such simple pleasures as playing catch, rarely gets along so well when anyone, let alone someone he cannot speak to. There is something about Cas that is more than simple convenience and loneliness on Dean's part.

He keeps his back to the ocean as he spends the day thinking things over.

He comes to a conclusion rather quickly. 

If he worries about his possible attraction for the creature, if he in any way still fears what Cas has in store for him, he'd best avoid him from here on out. No more songs, no more games, just his previous isolation as he attempts to survive out here in the middle of nowhere.

And if he does  _ not _ fear Cas, and if his attraction is to be accepted and not buried... perhaps he should find out what exactly Cas is first before he makes any other rash decisions.

_ Like throwing away the only friend I have… _

Decision made, Dean sets to work.


	3. Chapter 3

****

By the time the tide has left the rings of water, he's ready. 

Dean takes two torches with him down to the beach and very purposefully leaves the spear behind, visible and an unmistakable display of trust. He then traces the path to one of his favorite pools near the stone peaks at the far edge of the island. 

Far of course being a relative term. It takes him all of ten minutes to get there, and only that long because of the dimming light and the more treacherous rocky slopes that lead there.

Here the water is calm but slightly deeper. The rings of rock still provide shelter from the current and trap fish, but the water rises to Dean's navel. He'd taken to relaxing in the water here, back before he knew he wasn't alone. Then he feared the deeper water, and anything above the knee meant danger. That fear has long since dulled. Now, this place is the best spot for what he has in mind.

He carefully mounts the torches into the stone wall. They cast a dim light that dissolves into eerie shadows at the farthest edges of the pool, anything farther than that is completely obscured in darkness. Between the fire and the moon, Dean can see well enough.

Enough that Cas won't be able to hide if he comes when Dean calls him.

Dean starts with a whistle, that first one Cas echoed back to him. It now echoes off the stone, the waves, and soon Dean hears the answering notes to complete the melody.

Cas' eyes glow in the darkness, the only indication of his approach. Soon he comes into the light, gorgeous and otherworldly as always. He stops at the edge of the pool as though waiting for permission, unsure how close Dean is willing to allow him this time. Dean swallows hard—this is his last chance to turn back, to keep Cas' secret shrouded in mystery—and beckons him forward. He doesn't care what he learns, he  _ has _ to know.

"Come here." Dean's voice cracks so he tries again. "Please, Cas. I'm—I'm ready."

Slowly, Cas moves forward.

There's no way to describe how Cas moves. He rises out of water, over the crest of the rocks, and slips into the pool. It's graceful but wrong, wrong in the same way as when he disappeared into the water, when he moved to catch the coconut. 

Now Dean sees why. 

No human can move like that, because humans have legs and arms. Their short limbs dictate how they can move, forces them to be awkward in the water. Cas doesn't have that problem because he  _ doesn't have legs _ .

Dean has always known Cas was in no way human, but what he sees now takes away any possible illusion that they are the same. Even earlier that day when he'd gotten his first look at Cas up close, when he'd  _ heard _ Cas' shrieking attempts at speech, a part of him still denied it. What were some teeth, a tongue, and a strange complexion? It isn't as though he has gills. 

Now though... now he can clearly see as Cas’ torso does not end in any sort of appendage Dean expected. There is no fin, no legs covered in scales. No, instead there are eight long, deep blue tentacles, constantly in motion. They swirl around him as he crests the rocky barrier separating him from the pool. They slide in and out of the water easily, so easily that they are silent as they do so, the water around him barely rippling as he moves. The tentacles, even when Cas comes to a stop beyond reach of Dean, continue to move—they churn the water, the suckers pucker and unpucker, they reach towards him but hold back... 

"Wow," Dean breathes out. It surprises him, but there really is no other word for the startling realization that Cas is half octopus. "Wow," he repeats with a small laugh. "You really are something else."

Cas grins, wide and gummy and with far too many teeth, as though he understands the inherent awe in the words. 

"Cocky bastard," Dean mutters, though he can't shake his own smile. He reaches forward, unable to hold back the compulsion to  _ touch _ . 

A tentacle readily stretches out and meets him halfway. He jerks away at the first hint of contact, then immediately goes back for more. He runs his fingers along the tip, tracing the spots that glow whenever the torchlight hits them. They're firm but rubbery with a slickness to them that lets Dean's hand slide right along them. 

Cas turns his tentacle over in offering, and Dean pokes at one of the suckers. It doesn't feel much different than the rest of the tentacles, not until Dean experimentally puts his whole palm over it. With deceptive strength, it latches on and then lets go, latches on and lets go, on and on until Dean pulls away. There's a ring of pink on his palm and a tingling sensation he thinks has more to do with his own excitement than anything Cas actually did.

He shivers and unconsciously takes another step towards Cas to seek his heat.

"Guess I'm really getting to meet the real you today," Dean whispers. He can't bring himself to speak more loudly right now. This is an intimate moment, two very different beings coming together in friendship, in companionship, and anything above a whisper would be profane. "You're gorgeous, you know that?"

His words take him by surprise. He can feel a blush heating his cheeks, which is silly given their language incompatibility. No, his embarrassment doesn't stem from Cas' understanding of the words but rather  _ Dean's _ understanding of their truth. Cas' human half is handsome, but somehow seeing all of him together, it's breathtaking. This is a creature that is beyond anything Dean's ever seen on land or sea, an indescribable beauty and grace and Dean is quite frankly privileged to get to see him, know him, call him a friend...

Cas, ignorant of the way Dean's thoughts are tending, seems to have a similar view of Dean. His tentacles, finally given the free rein to touch and poke and test, trace their own patterns along Dean's arms and legs. Cas' human hands poke at Dean's freckles, trace the hair along Dean's arms, run down Dean's bare chest to tease at his nipples, his navel, and Dean's suddenly glad he has pants on. Cas' curiosity knows no shame. He can imagine Cas' hands and tentacles exploring  _ all _ of Dean, noting every difference between his own body and Dean's. 

"Hey," Dean says gently. He takes hold of one of Cas' hands and tentacles, causing the other limbs to twitch but obediently stop their ministrations. "You always so touchy feely or you just excited to get so close to a human?" 

Cas squints at him, then Dean yelps as a tentacle lands on his head from behind, the suckers grabbing hold of his hair and massaging his scalp. Cas' laugh is as musical as when he whistles, and Dean's sure Cas is trying to be playfully mischievous like during their game before. 

"Hey Cas?" Dean's tone is carefully devoid of anything that might give his intentions away. "You ticklish?"

Slowly, telegraphing the movement if not the goal, Dean raises a hand. He starts by gently bringing his fingers across Cas' collarbone, from the back of his ear down his neck, along his chest... and then abruptly changes course. With more pressure, his fingers dig in below Cas' arms and tickles relentlessly. Cas lets out an inhuman and undignified squawk, then a laugh that sounds like a wind chime in a storm, like rain on a metal roof, like anything but what Dean would have categorized as a laugh. 

Dean's victory is short lived, because almost as soon as his hands make it to the sensitive skin of Cas' still human stomach, tentacles grab hold of him.

His wrists bound by a firm, insistent, unbreakable grasp, Dean's tickle attack is cut short. Beneath the surface, he can feel more tentacles wrapping around his ankles and pinning him in place. He tests the strength of Cas' hold. It's strong but not bruising, not meant to hurt simply to maintain control. He thinks that if he were insistent, Cas would let him go. It's that thought that has Dean relaxing.

At least, until Cas’ counter attack starts. 

His hands, his remaining tentacles, are relentless as they explore Dean's skin for any sign of weakness to exploit. As Cas systematically finds every tickle spot on Dean's body, Dean's laughter is so high pitched that he's pretty sure he sounds more like one of Cas' fellow octopi. He can't help it, though, not when Cas is so merciless.

It feels like an eternity before Cas stops, leaving Dean breathless and his body boneless. He's thankful that Cas eases him out of his hold and into the water, even going to the trouble of propping Dean against the stony craig giving this pool shelter from the wind. 

"You don't play fair, you know that?" Dean grumps halfheartedly. He can't really complain, since he very much enjoys Cas' playful nature. If Cas weren't half so friendly, Dean doubts they'd ever have met in the first place. Hell, at this point he feels he should thank his damn mutinous crewmates for leaving him here, or he'd have gone his whole life never knowing a creature as magnificent as Cas exists beneath the waves. 

Cas whistles, a familiar lullaby playing out. This is one of the songs Cas sings him the most, and he wonders if it's his own creation or something he's brought up with him from the depths of the sea. 

"I ain't sleepy," Dean lies. He shouldn't be, and he most definitely shouldn't fall asleep here. It's not that he doesn't trust Cas not to eat him or whatever, it's more that he doesn't trust himself not to slip beneath the water and drown. "Can't sleep here..." 

Cas clucks in protest before continuing his song. A tentacle caresses his back, another his legs, a third and a forth his chest. The movement leaves goosebumps in their wake, but it also relaxes him, the last of his worries temporarily draining away. 

"The tide, Cas," he whines. "I can't stay here all night..."

And then Cas, devious as ever, starts using the pressure of his suckers to massage Dean's weary body and he knows he's done for. 

When Cas' tentacles experimentally press against Dean's crotch—a fleeting, barely there touch that instantly makes him crave more—he gasps. He jerks and writhes and whimpers. More more more— 

Cas complies, this time with more confidence, more pressure. More tentacles. Instead of one, three focus on prying open his pants, releasing and stroking his thickening cock. 

"Oh!" he sighs. He reaches for Cas. Instantly Cas is there, hands and tentacles both reassuring him even as he works Dean steadily towards the first orgasm he's had since he was forced out of the comfort of his cabin and onto this forsaken island.

There's a brief press of lips against his. An almost kiss, like someone aware of the gesture but completely unfamiliar with the mechanics, and Dean's mouth moves to react, to instruct. Cas doesn't stop his other ministrations, for which Dean's eternally grateful as his hips move to encourage the contact, but he does let Dean take control of the kiss.

When Dean opens his mouth, Cas does as well. When Dean presses his tongue forward, ever mindful of the jagged teeth, Cas gives him free rein. When Dean sucks and teases at his tongue, Cas rewards him when a wet, guttural groan.

Dean pulls away.

"Like that?" He doesn't even recognize his own voice, giddy as he sounds. "Glad I could reach you something, since—ohhh..."

Cas' tentacles work in earnest now. Their movements are insistent, demanding. He feels one prod at his ass as well. It pushes, gently, between his cheeks. The blind, seeking limb finds his hole all too quickly. It presses once firmly, then there's the expected but amazing feel of a sucker latching on.

"Cas!" he cries and then can stop himself. "Cas Cas Cas Cas  _ Cas _ !"

Cas keeps going, alternating pressure between Dean's cock, his hole. It's too much, not enough, is so good that Dean can't think, he can only feel, can only go along for the ride and commit to memory every wonderful second Cas wrings out of him.

Then Cas' tentacle pushes inside him, and Dean's vision whites out. He can't see, can't hear, can barely think. All he can do is feel, and he feels  _ amazing _ .

Afterwards, it still feels equally amazing as Cas pulls him to his chest. He kisses Dean's brow, more pressure than an actual kiss, and Dean thinks he could get used to this. Cas is the one thing that's made life bearable here, and now it's more than that.

He's almost happy, content if nothing more.

"This is nice, Cas." He pats whatever part of Cas is closest—tentacle? arm? shoulder?—and melts into his embrace. "Real nice."

The last thing he remembers before drifting off are the low, wordless tunes Cas sings to him, barely audible over the tide making its way back in.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean wakes with a start. He blinks against the blinding light—the sun has somehow climbed almost to its peak without him noticing—and tries to get his bearings. 

He's back at his little camp, his shoddy attempt to recreate a bed and shelter from rain and sun. There's no way he got here on his own, not after a mind blowing orgasm followed by being gently rocked to sleep. Cas must have brought him. 

Sure enough, he can see strange tracks winding through the sand, almost like snakes. If Dean had noticed them before this morning, he probably would've assumed they  _ were _ snakes. 

Now he knows better, and he follows the path of the tentacles back to the shore.

Not much further than that, he finds Cas' human half bobbing with the waves. Dean waves, and there's a slight feeling of disappointment when Cas doesn't immediately wave back. He's about to try again when Cas disappears beneath the water with an unexpected  _ plop! _ and a brief tangle of tentacles breaking the surface, lightning quick but definitely there.

Dean's stunned. Cas is incredibly graceful in the water, he doesn't splash or make a spectacle of himself like this. What's going on?

His fears are quickly put to rest. Moments later, Cas remerges with a shark the size of a dog in hand. The thing twitches a few times, then goes still.

Oh. Wow. 

The image is unexpectedly arousing.

Dean distracts himself from the errant thought by throwing a loud whistle. This time Cas turns his way, offering back a toothy grin and a whistle of his own.

All is right with the world again, and Dean relaxes more and more as Cas swims towards him. This time, instead of restricting himself to the deeper areas that sufficiently hide what he is, he ambles up onto the beach. He tosses the shark at Dean's feet, beaming with pride.

He's sure Cas meant the shark as a gift, dinner at least, but also a display of his strength. That he can protect Dean from the predators that might try to do him harm. 

"Thanks, Cas. Guess I'm eating shark today." He looks up, a stupid idea crossing his mind. "Hey, you wanna help me cook it?"

It's quite the event, getting the shark cleaned and cooked. Cas marvels at the whole process and is surprisingly helpful. His hands, which Dean knows are strong but has now experienced as gentle, are about to handle the rough skin without getting cut, and better yet, the nails are sharp enough they slice through the shark better than Dean's rusty knife. 

The cooking itself, Cas can barely contain his excitement. He stares at the fire, tentatively pokes at the embers, and his tentacles churn the sand. It's only when Dean hands him a cooked filet that he seems disenchanted with the endeavor. 

"It's still shark," Dean says. "Just eat it."

Cas nibbles the raw center but ignores the cooked edges.

"Picky, aren't we?" Dean teases. It's actually adorable, and his fond smile likely gives it away.

After wasting more than he eats, Dean just gives him an uncooked piece. It's... far less adorable to watch him tear into it with sharp teeth, but strangely it gives him an idea. 

A ridiculous idea that makes him question his own sanity.

A terribly deviant idea that would get him kicked out of civilized society if they knew.

... He technically already has been kicked out of society, civilized or not. What's he really got to lose?

As nonchalantly as he can, he inspects Cas' tentacles. Nothing is familiar to him, at least not in the way it would be if Cas were human. He knows Cas was very tactile with his tentacles last night, though, and that seems as good a place as any to start. One by one, he looks them over—no easy feat when they're constantly moving—until he finds the only one that's at all different. The colors at the end are darker, the spots ending well before, and the tip is thicker, rounder. 

Bingo.

It takes three tries before he catches it. Cas quirks an eyebrow at him but allows it. If anything, his other tentacles calm as he curiously watches Dean.

Keeping his left hand firmly around the tentacle, Dean experimentally draws the fingers of his right hand up and down towards the tapered end. He knows he's on the right track when Cas makes a gargling gasp. The tentacle goes tense, but he doesn't pull away.

Perfect.

Dean keeps it up, gently applying pressure, tracing lines around the suckers, dragging his blunt nails across the rubbery skin, all the while slowly making his way to the tip.

Cas continues to make deep, throaty, pleased noises in encouragement. His other limbs, human and octopus, clutch at Dean, caress, grasp, perhaps even bruise, but never try to stop him.

When he does reach the rounded end, he finds it slick with what Dean suspects,  _ hopes, _ is precome.

"You like that, sweetheart?" he whispers. He draws his fingers through the slick, earning him a rumble, almost like a purr, of approval. "Good. Figure I owe you a good fuck or two for keeping me sane... For other things too."

There's no reason to get sentimental, especially since Cas can't understand a damn word he says, so he puts a pin in that. He'll worry about that later. Right now, he's got other things on his mind.

Telegraphing his every move, he pulls Cas' tentacle closer. He places a kiss just below the slick, his tongue darting out to taste the skin. It's salty, no surprise there, yet also mild and tangy like citrus. The important part is, he doesn't at all dislike the flavor, and before he can lose his nerve, he licks a long stripe upward until he reaches the tip.

Cas moans, wide eyed and now absolutely still.

Now the he has Cas' full attention, he opens his mouth and sucks at the very tip of his tentacle. 

With a full body shiver, Cas' eyes drift shut. It's Dean's turn to watch now, and he memorizes the pleasure that works across Cas' face as Dean's tongue and lips and fingers work in tandem on what Dean is fairly confident is Cas' dick. More and more, his mouth fills with slick, more and more he finds his own body responding with want, with need, with a desire so primal it should scare him. 

It should, but it doesn't. Not even with Cas' other tentacles tightening around him like a vice. No, he can't be scared of Cas, because right now, Cas is  _ his _ .

Ignoring his own thick, demanding cock, Dean focuses all his attention on Cas. He wants to hear every inhuman sound of pleasure he can make, wants to taste Cas' distinctive slick that he'll never be able to forget it, wants wants  _ wants _ . He takes it all, and Cas willingly gives it.

When a high pitched whine, Cas comes. Dean's mouth fills with the salty come, some escaping down his lips, and then Cas comes again, his come shooting out faster than before, and Dean nearly chokes as he tries to swallow it.

Cas nearly collapses then, his tentacle slipping free of Dean's mouth, and Dean helps him lie down.

Huh. Didn't know Cas  _ could _ lie down like that.

Dean whips his mouth with the back of his hand. "You alright?" 

Cas makes that purring noise again.

"So that's yes," Dean says with a smug smile.

Cas huffs, then throws open his arms and whistles impatiently. 

"Yeah yeah, okay. I get it. You're a cuddler."

Cas doesn't stay long. In the days that follow, no matter what they do with or to each other, the pattern is the same. An hour, two, three three the most, and then Cas clucks in annoyance and untangles himself from Dean. He might press his nose to Dean's cheek, or perhaps it's a lingering grasp around Dean's waist, a nip to his earlobe, but no matter how he shows his affection, Cas will slowly pull away and head to the waves. 

Dean's not surprised. Cas is of the sea, he'll always have to go back. Dean's never seen a creature as amazing as Cas, but he's never seen anything come out of the sea that didn't need to go back sooner or later. 

The knowledge helps ease the sting of rejection. It's not rejection, just a necessity of life. 

Still, Dean hates the separation. Whether it's from his neverending stay here or genuine affection for Cas, it gradually becomes the worst part of his day. He tries to meet Cas halfway, of course he does, but like Cas, he's bound to the conditions his body can actually tolerate. Too long in the water's no good for him, just like the air's no good for Cas.

Fuck his life. 

He became a sailor because he loved the water, and he almost laughs to think this is where he ended up. Falling for a damn half octopus... it's either fate or some terrible cosmic joke.

With Cas' cock wiggling inside of him, Dean honestly doesn't care which it is. He figures he's making out pretty well either way.

When all Cas offered was companionship, a diversion from his constant boredom, Dean was content. Now that there's sex, Dean's thrilled, but describing their relationship with such base terms isn't adequate. Dean's had plenty of partners in his life, and he hadn't cared about any of them half as much as he cares about Cas.

Cas  _ saved _ him. There's no denying it. Cas' mere presence kept Dean engaged in his own survival. Everything since then, well, Dean never stood a chance.

He's in  _ love _ with Cas, as ridiculous as it might sound.

He really, truly is.

The realization hits him like lightning.

He  _ loves _ Cas. This isn't just a matter of convenience, though that's certainly an undeniable part of it. If he could go home tomorrow, he'd want Cas there with him. If he had the chance to undo his time here, he couldn't bear it. Cas is worth it, even if he lives the rest of his life here.

... He really hopes that's not the case, but he doesn't have the heart to complain if it is.

While Dean comes to this slow, deep revelation of the heart, Cas' thoughts tend elsewhere.

Cas adores watching Dean's mouth work around his cock (though he occasionally seems to look at Dean's teeth skeptically, as if they might grow into fangs at any moment), but his real interest is in learning just how wide he can stretch Dean as he fucks into him. He quickly moves from one to two tentacles, then a few days later he wiggles in a third. Dean has no doubt a fourth will come soon, and he both dreads and craves it. 

Always, though, it's Cas' cock that breaches him first. 

It coats his rim with his slick precome before gently easing in. Even without the slick, Dean would know Cas' cock by feel alone. It's thick enough that there's no mistaking it, the suckers not quite as nimble but twice as strong when they manage to latch onto Dean's prostate.

Fuck he loves that cock.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," Dean says one night, cradled in Cas' grasp and bobbing slightly with the waves. They're in one of the shallow pools, a necessity for Cas and a growing comfort for Dean. "I love you for more than your cock."

Cas hums in acknowledgement, completely clueless but appreciative of Dean's dopey, fucked out tone.

"Even if I weren't in love with you and stranded in the middle of the damn ocean, you've ruined me for anyone else. You know that, right?"

Cas kisses him, wet and a little toothy. 

"And you're so fucking adorable. I'm very glad that of all the islands my crew could have picked, they picked yours."

This time Cas kisses his eyelids, a gentle but firm reminder to go to sleep.

"Yeah yeah. I just regret I can't properly tell you any of this."

He falls asleep with his heart full but aching.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a super long chapter, but I think you'll see why I picked this as a stand alone excerpt ;)

Since he can't tell Cas in the traditional way, he makes an effort to show Cas he cares. 

They're both very tactile, but Dean's shied away from casual touches outside of sex. It's a stupid hangup about the interspecies thing, and he forces himself to get over it. It's completely worth it the first time he squeezes Cas' shoulder for no other reason than he can, and Cas' face lights up like the sun. 

There are other small gestures here and there. Finding the clams Cas likes but that are usually only in the shallows. Making him a necklace out of sand dollars and seaweed. Teaching him new songs and singing them while Cas whistles along. Little ways that he hope add up to "I love you."

One evening after a particularly good meal where Cas insisted upon hand feeding Dean, Cas' calm whistles become nervous clicking. He's normally calm like the sea after a storm, but now he's practically shaking. Dean doesn't know what it is—anticipation? worry?—but he does his best to soothe him. 

When Cas nudges him onto the sand, Dean complies. When Cas pulls off his clothes, Dean lifts his hips to help. When Cas carefully positions him onto his stomach, ass slightly raised and legs spread wide, Dean relaxes into it. 

Whatever Cas has planned, Dean trusts him completely.

The warm touch against his rim is expected but makes him jerk all the same. His bare cock digs into the sand, a rough counterpoint to the smooth slick Cas methodically spreads around his hole. Dean thrusts down experimentally, moaning in pleasure pain.

Cas hisses in warning, a reminder to stay still as he gently pushes past the puckered muscle. In and out, each time easier and faster the more Dean relaxes and the more slick Cas spreads.

When the second tentacle pushes in, again it's expected but makes him yelp in surprise. It's sooner than usual, and instead of the second thrusting in time with Cas' cock, it latches onto Dean's rim and pulls him wide. Moments later, another tentacle joins in and pulls at the other end. He feels like he's being pulled apart, his rim burns at the constant stretch, his hips beg to move and find relief, but as Cas starts to fuck him in earnest, he can't find it in his to care about any of that. 

Whatever Cas has in mind, Dean is game. Hell, he  _ wants  _ it. 

After thoroughly lining his hole inside and out, the other tentacles help Cas' dick fuck him harder. They wrap around each other, wider than Dean thinks he's ever taken, so many he can't even begin to guess how many he's taking again and again and again, and it's so fucking good he's sure he'll come long before Cas is finished with him.

All it takes is a few well aimed thrusts to his prostate, Cas nibbling possessively at his neck, and Dean does in fact come all over the sand beneath him. He lies there boneless and spent, mind drifting in a blissful haze. Cas fucks him mercilessly, stretching him more and more, impossibly wide and then with a shudder that rocks through both of them, Dean feels Cas' release blaze through him.

Too tired to move, Dean waits for Cas to wrap around him for their usual post-sex cuddles. His tentacles do start to wrap around him, pinning his wrists and ankles in place, but almost immediately Dean senses something's different. Their grasp is too tight, too forceful. Cas really is trying to keep him in place, not snuggle towards him. Dean weakly lifts his head to look over his shoulder, only to see a strained look on Cas' face.

What in the world—?

And then Dean's empty, wet hole is slowly filling again. The texture, the girth is wrong to be any of Cas' tentacles. It's so thin Dean almost thinks it's one of Cas' fingers, but it gradually widens and widens. His channel, still dripping from Cas' come, doesn't protest as this new, unknown appendage works its way deep, deep, deeper still. It's no worse than the tentacles, if not somewhat uncomfortable now that Dean's oversensitive and tired, but he honestly has no idea what it is and it's his curiosity that's driving him crazy.

Like human men, Cas has only ever come once,  _ maybe _ twice, and then been spent. If they've both already come...

What's going on?

Even stranger, Dean can hear Cas' gasps, the heavy breathing that's just not quite the one Dean knows from sex. It sounds more like he's running a marathon, his body straining against the exertion he's forcing it to undertake. Dean unconsciously tenses, what little energy he has left making his body rigid and his muscles tight, and Cas immediately stops moving. Whatever's inside of Dean stops, pulling back a few inches but remaining firmly inside of him, and Cas' hands, his lips work to set Dean at ease. 

"Cas," Dean whines, though he lets himself relax into the touch. "Cas, what... what's...?" 

He can't find the words and he gives up the effort, knowing full well it's useless anyway. Instead he tries to keep himself limp and pliant, focuses on the heavy, familiar weight of Cas on top of him. Whatever's happening, he knows Cas will take care of him. 

Once satisfied that Dean has calmed, Cas sets back to work. The strange tentacle inside of him begins to move again, following its previous path and then striving to go even farther. 

As if not quite in tune with his body, with the moment at hand, Dean marvels at how well his body shifts to accommodate Cas. Already he's had more than he could fathom today, stretched so wide he felt like he could burst, and now there's more wiggling into him. The tentacle is insistent, never going faster than Dean can handle but with no sign of stopping, either. The seconds drag on, both of them gasping for air, until finally, it stops. 

Nestled so deep inside him he swears he could see it, feel it through his skin if he tried, the tentacle finds its place. Tiny suckers latch on, so different from what Dean's used to he squirms at the tickle that ripples through him. They undulate and Dean swears there must be more slick coming off of them. He can feel himself, already full and tight and aching from the burn, loosen further. He moans then, thrusting weakly into the sand with his half-hard but spent dick. The feeling is different, not quite good but not bad, and he's glad he's riding his post orgasmic haze or he's sure he'd be thrusting backwards to meet Cas. 

The small, lucid parts of his mind warn him that would probably be bad. Cas is holding him secure for a reason, and he needs to give in and trust Cas' decision or he might end up hurting them both.

At the base of the tentacle, right where it presses against Dean's hole, he feels it thicken. It's impossible, it's too wide, too round, too much. Nonetheless, it thickens. More and more, wider than the multiple tentacles that forced him open earlier. Thicker than anything Dean could ever dream of taking, too much, no no no— 

With a wet  _ pop! _ of slick, with a loud gasp from Dean and Cas' high pitched whimper, the protrusion finds its way past Dean's rim. 

It's not inside of him, not yet, but now the main barrier has been crossed. Dean writhes, gasping at the sand with numb fingers, kicks at it with his feet, he bucks and finds himself no longer half hard but damn near fully hard as he tries to adjust to the thing inside of him. It's thick, it's wide, it's round, it's fucking  _ inside _ Cas' tentacle, and worst (best?), it's still pushing inside of him. He tries to imagine what it must look like, the roundness that continues to stretch him impossibly wide, fill him so much he wants to cry from glorious pleasure, from the pain of it. He can't imagine what it looks like, can't possibly understand what is until suddenly, it's  _ completely _ inside. 

The shape, the size... it's an egg. It has to be an egg.

His body shivers in relief, instinctively knowing the hardest part is done. It's in him, his body has accepted it, and now it just needs to be nudged into place.

Holy crap. An egg... Cas' egg... Their egg... what the hell... 

All coherent thought stops as the egg continues to move. The suckers undulate again, vibrating through Dean and coaxing the egg further inside him. It moves at a snail's pace, steady, gradual but unstoppable. 

Now that he knows what it is, Dean keeps as still as possible. He understands Cas' silent urgency, the possessive and protective streak that have led them here. This is important, very important, and things need to go right. Like hell Dean knows what on earth that means, what's needed from him to make sure that happens, but Cas does. Once he makes the conscious decision, his whole body gives in to Cas' touch. The last bits of resistance fade and the egg moves unimpeded deep into Dean's belly. He can feel his insides shifting to make way as the egg finds its rightful place nestled inside of Dean. 

Dean doesn't quite believe it when the movement stops. The agony, the odd arousal he felt at every twitch, every shift, settle back down. Cas, all the pieces of him that had been holding Dean in place, leave him feeling naked and bare. Dean's hands are free, his legs, his hole isn't stretched open, his body isn't penetrated to the point of breaking. Now that he’s empty, now that it’s all over, he’s unsurprised to find his belly wet from an orgasm he doesn’t quite remember having.

... But as he experimentally rolls onto his side, he sees the slight bulge in his abdomen. It wasn't his imagination, there's definitely something there that wasn't before. 

He pokes at it, gently, and it remains firm. There's no give, and Dean sighs with relief. The egg's safe, at least. He won't have to worry about accidentally crushing the poor thing. 

A hand covers his, smoothing out over where the egg rests. Dean looks up and meets stormy blue eyes that look absolutely terrified. 

"You worried how I'm feeling?" He musters as much of a smile as he can manage, now once again exhausted. "It's okay." He pats Cas' arm and pulls him down for a hug. "I understand. Can't say I knew it was coming, but I ain't upset about it." 

Cas purrs in relief (though Dean notices he's still about a half octave too high; it'll apparently take more to reassure Cas and he makes a mental note to take care of that when he's feeling up to it) and obeys Dean's silent plea for touch. He trails kisses up and down Dean's neck as he falls him into an embrace. He hums Dean's favorite lullaby, one of the haunting tunes Dean's sure belongs to the deep of the sea more than it does to him, and showers him with gentle caresses, most lingering on his abdomen. 

Yeah, Dean could get used to this.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean wakes, groggy and slow and heavy. It takes him a moment to realize it's morning, and worse than that, Cas is still draped possessively over him. It then takes a few more minutes of careful thinking to figure out why Cas being with him is bad. 

"Cas!" he whines, pushing the sleeping form. Cas doesn't budge. Experimentally, Dean runs his hands down Cas' sides to his tentacles. They're terribly dry and don't quite have the usual give to them. "Cas, you  _ have _ to get up. I know you wanna be all protective or whatever, but you're gonna dry out. Get in the damn water." 

Cas hisses in his sleep and clings more tightly to Dean. Dean plays with the idea of pinching or even biting him, but settles for continuing to gently nudge him until he at least lets Dean go enough for him to crawl away. Dean has half a mind to just grab his canteen and start spraying Cas with water, even fills it with the briney water, but by the time he walks back to their little nest in the sand, Cas is glaring at him suspiciously. 

Dean playfully splashes the water at him anyway. Cas looks unimpressed (though Dean is pleased to note his tentacles shine vivid blue where the water hit them; it shouldn't take much for him to look like his usual self, thankfully).

"C'mon." Dean holds out a hand and then starts dragging Cas to the beach. Since Dean is with him, Cas goes eagerly. "You can't dry yourself out on my account. I'm serious. It's cute that you think I need to be taken care of, but egg or no egg, I'm still a grown ass man—" 

He pauses, words and feet stuttering to a stop. The waves gently lap at his feet and Cas quirks his head to give Dean a concerned look. He pointedly ignores both, his attention drawn down to the slight curve of his belly. 

It's not his imagination then. Not some vivid dream or hallucination from too much octopus come. There's something really there, and if Cas' behavior is anything to go by, it really is an egg.

"Wow," he whispers. A hand cradles it, learning the weight and size, prodding to see just how exposed the delicate egg is. He can only find one large, rounded side, buried beneath the muscles of his stomach. Safe and sound, then. He flexes, pokes, even shifts his weight and jumps once or twice. The egg stays put and he feels nothing for his efforts but the slightest pressure against his bladder. 

He looks at Cas, eyebrow raised. "You been planning this the whole time. Weeks now, you've been getting me ready." 

Cas clicks and whistles. Then for added effect, he shrugs, an exaggerated movement he's picked up from Dean and might not even be using right. No way to tell, and Dean's frustrated once again at the language barrier. Language didn't matter when they were setting boundaries as friends and then later crossing them as lovers. Hell, Dean could live happily never saying a word to Cas for the rest of their lives, but the possibility of a kid raises concerns that Dean's terrified to face on his own. A mute partner who can neither understand nor make himself understood... 

_ Breathe _ , he warns himself.  _ Stress isn't good for you or the egg. Probably. Chill out and take it slow. You've got time to figure your shit out. _

_ Hopefully. _

His thoughts and fears threaten to drown out his good sense. How long does it even take for a half octopus egg to gestate? Is he going to give birth human style?  _ What's _ even going to come out of the egg? Is the baby going to be any better equipped to learn to speak than Cas is? On and on the questions race and Dean almost collapses under the weight of it. 

Again, he tells himself to breathe. Worry and stress are bad. Patience and trust in Cas are good. 

One problem at a time. And what's the first problem? 

Getting Cas in the damn water. 

He looks up to meet Cas' troubled eyes. He's half reaching out to Dean, his concern obvious in his expression, his own frustration coming through in urgent, guttural sounds. 

"I'm okay." He smiles weakly. "Water?" He nods to the ocean and starts walking again. 

Cas obediently follows... and continues to push the line of personal space as he fusses over Dean. It really is adorable, but Dean's firm in rebuking him every now and then. Adorable can turn into overbearing real quick, especially if this is a long pregnancy. 

Pregnancy. Wow, this is a fucking trip.

For a few days, Dean does manage to avoid thinking too much on it. They swim, they play ball with a coconut, they eat, they sing to each other. Dean might even be able to forget that his world has forever shifted if it weren't for Cas' endless dotting on him: the sex is gentler, Cas is always within arm's reach, and he's forever trying to feed Dean fish. 

And there's a damn bulge that he swears is  _ growing _ . 

Life is good, and Dean focuses on that. He focuses on that... until the looming life after the egg hatches is too much for him to bear. 

"Cas," he says one morning. He's thought long and hard about this, even talked it out to a clueless Cas once or twice, and now it's time to put thought to action. He keeps his tone light but serious, and Cas picks up on it, all his attention on Dean (after he surreptitiously steals a glance at the egg). 

"Cas," he says again. "Cas, is this an egg?"

He makes a show of pointing to the egg, then grabs a stick and draws an egg in the sand. He points between his crude drawing and his swollen belly, repeating  _ egg _ in that questioning tone. Cas frowns, then he points at Dean's drawing and Dean's belly, eyes never leaving Dean's. 

"Egg," Dean confirms with a nod. "Egg."

Cas mimes the nodding and Dean rewards him with a smile.

"Alright, that was a freebie." Next to the egg, he draws a stick figure. He points to the figure and then to himself. "Human. Man. Dean." He wonders if that's too many things, but he wants to emphasize that the stick figure is  _ him _ .

Cas nods and points between picture and Dean. 

Dean draws a laughable attempt at an octopus. He says octopus a few times, very carefully pointing at Cas' tentacles only. "Octopus." 

Now he draws a third figure, half man, half octopus. "You. Cas. Octo... man?" He points between the picture (one that he already sees Cas laughing at) and Cas. "Cas."

*I don't even have a word for whatever you are,* he laments, then decides that's better. He has a hundred words for Cas—beautiful, impossible, loyal, incredible, sexy—and he thinks just having one wouldn't be enough to contain all that Cas is. 

Cas nods, then grabs Dean's stick and adds a smiley face to himself, puffing up with pride that he too can draw.

"Okay, you adorable little shit," Dean laughs and takes the stick back. Just to make sure they're on the same page, he says one of the words and then makes Cas point to the correct picture. He cycles through  _ egg, Dean, man, octopus, Cas _ a few times, working in nods for yes and shaking his head for no until he's confident Cas has picked it up. Based on Cas' shit eating grin, he's pleased with his progress as well. He even mouths the words, though thankfully doesn't try to vocalize them; Dean's not sure his ears could handle it if it's as painful as the last time. 

He takes a deep, steadying breath, because that was the easy part. He's a little terrified at what the answer to his next question is, and there's the added fear that he's not smart enough to convey what he's asking, that he's overlooked something in the words he's picked to convey what he wants, that his and Cas' languages aren't nearly so compatible as he thought and the best they'll ever get is whistles and clicks and gestures. 

No, he has to try. There's no point in dancing around this forever.

"Cas," he starts, and chuckles when Cas eagerly points to the drawing of him in the sand. Dean nods and tries not to melt at how beautiful Cas is when he's happy. 

"Cas, I need to know what's inside me. The egg." He points to himself. "The egg... is it a human, an octopus, or an octoman?" He points to each picture in turn as he asks. He hopes his tone conveys that it's a question, hopes his expression does the same, and he watches with baited breath as Cas pieces together what Dean's asking.

Cas frowns. Slowly, he points to the egg picture and Dean's belly, then points to both the human and the octoman picture, careful to avoid the octopus one altogether. 

"I know it's our egg," Dean says. He points to himself and the man, Cas and the octoman, then between the two of them for the egg. "Our egg. But what's  _ inside _ the egg?" Now he draws another egg, this one cracked open. He points to the egg and then the other three pictures again. "What's in the egg, Cas?"

Cas more emphatically points this time. Cracked egg, human. Cracked egg, octoman. Cracked egg, human, cracked egg, octoman, over and over. His eyes are serious and now he adds the clicking sound he usually uses when he fusses over Dean, the one that shows uncertainty. 

Great. So either Cas doesn't understand the question... or he doesn't know if it'll be a human or an octocreature like himself. Based on Cas' body language and what little he can convey, Dean's guessing it's the latter. That there's some uncertainty in interspecies relations, but that the kid'll turn up looking more or less like one of its parents. Honestly, Dean can live with that possibility.

It actually makes his heart flutter as he imagines a mix of him and Cas. The kid's going to have some human features at least, so maybe there'll be freckles. Maybe Cas' beautiful eyes and dark hair mixed with Dean's complexion. He imagines Cas taking over when it's time to teach the kid to swim, Dean insisting on teaching the kid to cook, both helping it learn to fish. 

He likes those images very much. They make his head and heart full and are enough to ease his fears of what tomorrow might bring. 

He remembers a moment the third or fourth day he was trapped here. He had stood on the beach and stared out at the horizon and acknowledged that his life was over, it was only a matter of days or weeks until the end was final. Now he's here with his lover, imagining their future child. 

It's… it's a lot to take in.

There's a lot more he needs to tell and ask Cas, but that's enough for today. He doesn't want to overwhelm either of them, so he cuts the lesson short. 

"Good job," he praises and straddles Cas' not quite lap. Cas wraps his arms around Dean's waist to keep him close, uses his tentacles to urge him closer, and eagerly kisses along Dean's collarbone. "Look at you, learning English. Knew you were a clever fucker." 

Cas nods solemnly. Dean swats playfully at his shoulder. 

"Don't you fucking nod like you understand me."

Cas nods again, though a grin threatens to break out at the corner of his lips. 

"You better be careful. One of these days I'm gonna ask if you want sex or something, and you're gonna shake your head trying to look smart and deprive yourself of a blowjob."

Cas nods, his kisses moving up Dean's neck. He shakes his head as he nibbles at Dean's earlobe. 

"You're such an ass, you know that?" Dean puts the whole conversation to rest when he finds Cas' lips and draws him into a long, heated kiss.

Their lesson over, Dean decides to thoroughly reward Cas to show his appreciation...


	7. Chapter 7

Knowing what their egg might hatch—or at least, narrowing down the choices a little—goes a long way in soothing Dean's nerves. It actually makes his concerns about the pregnancy (is that even the right word?  _ is _ there even a word for this?) disappear completely. 

It's all the parts that come after that have him silently freaking out. 

He sets a goal, the end point he has to reach, and then tries to plot out a way between now and that distant place in the future. What words does he need? How does he build a path that leads in the right direction? Obviously starting with "Hey Cas, I can't give birth or whatever in the middle of the damn ocean and raise a kid with just you by my side" isn't going to get him far, and he cringes at the idea of even teaching Cas words like "birth" through pictures.

... Partly because he doesn't even know how to draw an egg hatching pseudo birth.

No, baby steps, that's the only way. He builds off of what little they have and adds practical words like  _ fish, water, sleep, _ and  _ fire _ . Then it's words like  _ boat _ and  _ island _ , words he knows he'll need when he finally feels he can get to the crux of the matter. 

Dean had always thought Cas was smart, and every time he goes about teaching Cas new words, he reassesses just  _ how _ smart he is. He's damn brilliant, really, and even draws his own pictures and demands Dean teach him words. He forces Dean to teach him full sentences, ones with an obvious syntax that Dean would've been hard pressed to explain but that Cas easily picks up on through pictures and listening to Dean. The bastard will probably be fluent soon enough, and Dean really fucking hates that he'll never be able to  _ hear _ the fruit of his labors. 

(Though there is one night when Dean's feeling particularly sentimental. He draws a heart in the sand and calls it  _ love _ , forcing Cas' hand over his chest to feel his heart beat. He then kisses along Cas' arm, all the way up to his chest. He places his mouth over Cas' heart and whispers "I love you" before placing a gentle kiss to that very spot. It's foolish, there should be no way Cas could ever pick up what he's really saying, not from that alone. Still, when he pulls away, he thinks he can  _ see _ Cas' understanding in his eyes. When Cas points to the heart in the sand, then to his own heart, then to Dean's, Dean nearly cries. Just like that, they've communicated, they've said it without really needing the words, and it doesn't matter that he'll never hear it out loud. He knows, and Cas knows, and that's enough.)

It takes a few weeks for Dean to build up the foundation he needs. He starts to tell Cas stories, always careful to focus on the words he's sure Cas knows. Occasionally Cas will pull at his sleeve and demand he explain a word by handing him the stick and pointing impatiently at the sand. Dean will always laugh but oblige, more than happy to sate Cas' curiosity. 

He tells Cas about his days as a lowly fisherman on his father's small boat ("Father... Egg. You, father. Me, father."), then his short lived time in the navy ("Spear. Knife. Gun. Boats. Lots of boats. Fighting. Killing. Fucking wasting my life and risking my neck for assholes who didn't deserve it and treated us like cannon fodder. No, I'm not explaining all that. I probably sound angry enough you can tell I don't give a shit about those assholes.") before he became a sailor on a merchant ship ("Merchant... Uh... That's tough. Lemme act out a trade, that could work. Here, you take that fish and I'll grab the coconut...") before being made captain ("And then the bastards got pissed I wouldn't go into slave trade and marooned me here. Huh? What word? Bastard? No, Cas, I don't think I can draw that one..."). 

By the time he reaches the end of his long, sad tale, he thinks maybe Cas is ready. 

And maybe Dean's ready to put it on the line. It's not that he doesn't trust Cas, it's just... it's just they're  _ different _ . He's learned that time and time again through these lessons, the little nuances of his life he doesn't think he can ever adequately explain. Even the times he thinks he has explained things pretty damn well, all things considered, Cas stares at him blankly and yeah, there's no common ground to explain something as simple as a damn pipe.

So it's not that Cas or himself he worries about, it's the cultural divide. Cas doesn't mean him harm, he knows that, and Cas loves him, whatever that means to an octo-man. That doesn't mean Cas will be open to Dean's request or react well to it if it's offensive to his people. 

But as the weeks carry on and his belly grows heavier, he can't avoid it any longer.

"Cas," he says. His voice is tight and his expression pained, and instantly Cas is fussing over him. "I can't raise a kid here. It can't be just the three of us. I need my family, my home. I need to leave. And I want you there with me," he adds in a rush. "I do, I swear. But I can't... Cas, what if this egg is more like you than me? I'll never be able to talk to my own kid, and over the years... It'll be more and more the two of you, and me here as the odd man out. Or maybe it's human like me, and then it's you who's on the outside. We need... we need  _ more _ than us. I need a boat to go home. I need my brother, my mom. I need my  _ home _ . This place was fine for the two of us, I swear it was..." 

He trails off and takes a deep breath. He's gone off, too many words, too much, and he refines it. Simplifies it. 

"We need a new home. I need a boat to leave. Before the egg hatches."

Cas' expression is inscrutable. Dean looks for anything—did he understand? is he upset? why isn't he reacting?—but there's nothing. He doesn't move a muscle, gives nothing away, and Dean's starting to think he should take it all back. It was a mistake, he was wrong— 

Abruptly, Cas turns towards the ocean. As much as Cas was built for water, he's surprisingly nimble on land. He kicks up sand behind him, his tentacles a flurry of activity as he stubbornly takes the shortest path to the shore.

Dean follows him. Normally he'd grab Cas' shoulder and hold him firmly in place, but he's too worried to do more than try to keep up.

"Cas, you okay?" 

No answer. 

"Cas, I'm sorry. Don't be mad—"

At the edge of the water, right where the sand is damp from the tail end of the waves, he stops and faces Dean. He puts both hands on Dean's cheeks and then kisses his forehead. He exaggerates the movement of pointing to Dean and to the island—a silent command to  _ stay here _ that makes Dean's chest tight and his head fuzzy—before he places a hand over his heart, then Dean's. He spares a gentle, almost indulgent caress for their egg, then he resolutely turns to the ocean. 

Dean stands there in shock, too confused to do more than watch as Cas disappears into the surf.

And then he's gone, and Dean's alone.

~ ~ ~

Dean's not sure what to make of Cas' departure. He hopes Cas needs some time and it's not more serious than that, but as the hours drag on, his worries grow. 

Cas had told him to stay on the island, but why? He should know Dean can't exactly leave on his own. Was it a sign he didn't like Dean's request? A demand that he get used to staying here?

Dean dismisses the thought initially. Cas is demanding in his way, insistent and patiently waiting for what he wants, but never overbearing like that. 

But then hours turn into a day, then two, then three. 

He's gotten so used to seeing Cas nearly every waking moment, falling asleep to his lullabies or in his arms, that the sudden absence hurts all the more. He hasn't gone this long without at least spotting Cas since Cas first made himself known.

If Dean was lonely before, it's nothing to what he feels now.

Loneliness would be one thing. This is rejection, this is abandonment not by a paid crew but by a lover. This is heartbreak, plain and simple, and it has him shamelessly crying himself to sleep more than once.

Three days. Then a week. Then two.

If it weren't for the egg, ever present and a reminder of what he and Cas have built over the past few months, Dean doesn't know what he'd do. It's driving him crazy, imagining worse and worse scenarios that keep Cas from him. The ocean is treacherous, even to the creatures that call it home. Sharks, storms, rocks, heck, maybe Cas' kind are as murderous as humans. 

Every movement on the horizon is potentially Cas, every dawn another chance for Cas to come back.

... And every empty wave, every empty day is another chance for heartbreak.

"Hope for the best," Dean mumbles. He rubs his belly and scans the ocean for something, anything. "Stranger things have happened, right? You're proof of that, huh?"

He's resigned himself to another day alone when his eyes catch something, miles out. He does a double take and squints. How many times had his eyes strained against the sun, the endless water, in the crow's nest? He senses more, sees the wrongness there, the inherent difference that means something other than boundless waves. 

What is it?

He finally makes out the outline of a ship. It's impossible, and he pinches himself to be sure. 

Time only serves to bring it closer, to make the shape clearer, to bring certainty to his guess.

In fear, he scrambles up the beach and seeks cover in the trees. What if it's his men, bloodthirsty and wanting to finish the job they started?

It's irritational—they'd never be able to find the island again if they tried, the fools—but he doesn't know what else to think. This is well and truly the middle of nowhere, not on any trade or fishing lanes. 

Who the fuck is it? 

"You could be hallucinating," he mumbles to himself, then winces. Is that any better?

This should be good news. This is rescue, this is freedom.

... This is a way to cut Cas out of his life forever, because how on Earth would Cas ever find him if he left?

The ship, a huge thing with pristine sails and a large crew, heads straight for the island. By the time it anchors, Dean resigns himself to meeting whoever comes ashore.

He briefly fingers the tip of his spear and wonders if it's worth it. Could he fight? Could he hide? How many of them could he take out if need be?

All these questions die before he's come up with a plan. Indecisive, he stands and waits under the protective shade, and then he hears it.

"Dean? Dean! Are you here?"

He balks for a moment, then runs to meet the small boat rowing to shore.

"Sam!?"


	8. Chapter 8

Dean's convinced he's gone crazy. That seems more plausible than the Sam ex machina that's wading through the shallows. 

Then Sam's there, literally right in front of him for the first time in nearly a year, his little brother that he taught to swim and tie knots and sail and fish and yeah, this is real. 

Dean's got his arms around him in a fierce hug before either can get a word out. 

"Oof!" Sam takes the time to steady himself before he can return the bear hug. "Good to see you, too."

"I never thought I'd see you again," Dean rasps. He'd never let himself think about it before this moment, but it's true. He expected to die here, and it's a real mindfuck that it's not true at all.

"Yeah, same." Sam pulls away, holding Dean at arm's length as he looks him over. His eyes linger on Dean's swollen abdomen, but thankfully he says nothing. "What's with the beard?"

"I've been stranded on an island for months. Why the fuck wouldn't I have a beard?" Despite the harshness of his words, Dean can't help but smile. 

"You've got a knife, don't you?" Sam asks with an eye roll. He then becomes quite serious, putting his cloak over Dean and eyeing the men on the small lifeboat warily. "Let's get you onboard."

He nudges Dean forward, and Dean stiffens. He locks his legs and lets Sam's arms slide off him.

"I'm not going anywhere. Not yet."

Sam shoots him a fake grin. Again he looks to the men only twenty feet away. "Don't be silly. You need rest, real food—"

"I can't." He takes his cue from his brother, keeps the truth hidden, but there's no way he's leaving without sign of Cas.

"If this is about..." Sam struggles to find the right words, and Dean narrows his eyes suspiciously. "If this is about  _ your friend _ , I assure you, he wants you to come with me."

Given the other miracles he's experienced that have become commonplace, Dean doesn't question what his brother is implying. There's no doubt in his mind that Sam knows more than he should, and Dean's willing to trust him. 

In a daze, he follows Sam. The waves are choppy as the men row them back to sea. Dean ignores it all, too busy looking for any trace of Cas in the water.

He almost thinks he sees a tentacle poking out, there in the distance, but it's so quick he's sure he's imagining it.

Too soon they reach the ship, the deckhands working to pull them aboard. Dean can't muster much interest in what's going on around him. Sam has a protective arm on his shoulder and a glare for anyone that looks at Dean too long, but other than taking that in, Dean's mind is elsewhere.

He'll argue the terms of his departure later, right now they need some semblance of privacy to talk. 

How did Sam find his way here? How much does he know?

Where the fuck is Cas?

Sam's careful to wrap his arm around Dean as he leads him to the captain's cabin. Dean shrinks in on himself, picking up on Sam's concern. A few months ago, he would have questioned Sam for not trusting his crew, or for not choosing his crew better; given the predicament that his own damn crew left him in, he knows better now. Sam always was the cautious one, and Dean has a lot more to lose now. So instead of staring defiantly at the curious men and women who watch him with naked curiosity, he shields himself with Sam's cloak and wraps his arms protectively around the egg. 

It's not until they're safely inside the cabin that Dean lets himself relax. He's wound tight, worried for a number of reasons, but here it's just him and his brother. Whatever he might need to hide from the rest of the world, there's no point in hiding it from Sam. 

The real trick is  _ how _ to tell him. 

_ Hey Sammy, long time no see. Thanks for the rescue. By the way, I'm pregnant with a sea creature's baby. How have you been? _

Yeah, that would go over well.

He doesn't realize he's been zoning out until Sam awkwardly coughs. Dean turns and sees Sam's actually blushing. It's rare for him to see his brother, now a confident adult with a ship and crew of his own, reduced to the gangling teenager that had depended so much on Dean's guidance and assurances. It makes Dean forget his own concerns for the moment as his protective instincts take over.

"What's wrong?" he asks. "Are you okay?"

Sam instantly snaps out of it. "Shouldn't I be asking  _ you _ that?" 

Dean shrugs. He turns his attention to the cabin, well furnished but sparsely decorated. It's a far cry from the care Dean had put into his own cabin on his own ship, filled with rich tapestries, exotic incense, or whatever haul he could get at far off ports. It'd always made him feel more worldly, even if he rarely left the familiar ground of the harbor and market spaces. All he can see here are a disciplined captain's room with minimal personal effects or any real character. 

Sam always was the more practical one. Probably why his crew hasn't mutinied. 

Hell, it probably wouldn't even bother him half as much as it had Dean. Dean had made his crew his family, his ship his home; Sam's heart was still firmly planted in the small fishing village they grew up in. 

"Dean..."

Dean doesn't want to look at his brother. Tears well in his eyes, all his failures weighing heavily upon him. His failures... and the other turns his life has taken since arriving at the island. So many things to answer to, to explain, to hope for understanding. It's a lot, and the words stick to his throat. 

"Would you stop freaking out?" Sam's words are gentle. "Whatever you're thinking, it can't nearly be so bad as you think."

"Easy for you to say," he mumbles. 

"How about I go first?" Sam offers. 

Dean sneaks a look at his brother suspiciously, but he can't detect anything other than Sam's real desire to help. He nods and takes a seat on the edge of the bed. It's a shit bed, typical for a ship this size, but it's damn near divine after nights out on the sand. 

"Should I call for some food? You must be hungry."

"I ate just fine."

"Drink, then? I've got wine. Ale. Mead. Whiskey. Name it and I'll send someone for it."

Dean hesitates. He could use a drink simply to loosen his tongue... 

His hand goes protectively to his belly. He'd better not.

Sam tracks the movement, eyes narrowed. 

"Nothing, then?"

"Soon, but... not yet. I'd probably throw it up anyway, I'm so damn..." He can't find the right word. Tense? Nervous? Worried? All of the above? Instead of finishing the thought, he shrugs.

"Well," Sam says before he huffs a laugh. Running a hand through his long hair, he shakes his head. "I should probably start at the beginning, right? With the mutiny?"

Dean perks up. "You know about that?"

"Your idiot crew fucking bragged about it. Basically forced the navy's hand. The ship was decommissioned and the men all fined or jailed for their part. I tried to find out where they'd stranded you," he adds quickly. "I never gave up hope you were still alive. You're too damn stubborn to die like that. None of them could give me a solid location, though. Some said west of the keys, some said east of the mountains, some said it was a big island, others just a rock jutting out of the water. I don't know if they were inconsistent on purpose or just idiots."

"Idiots," Dean confirms. "I was the fucking captain, and I still had to navigate myself. I'm surprised they ever made it to port without me."

"Well, I tried looking anyway. Every lead that seemed reasonable, I followed. Even a few of the unreasonable ones... Nothing. And now having been out here, I can see why. That island's damn small, easy to miss. Never mind that it's  _ leagues _ away from anything recognizable."

The hairs on the back of his neck prickle. 

"None of them told you I was here..." Dean says. "And you couldn't find it on your own..."

"So how'd I find you?" Sam asks. He shakes his head. "This one's either the easier part of the story, or the part where you think I've gone fucking crazy." 

It clicks, all the pieces falling into place, and Dean saves both of them the trouble. "Cas? He... he found you?"

A look of pure relief washes over Sam. "Oh thank the gods. I thought..." He laughs a little maniacally. "I have no idea what I thought, actually. That I was hallucinating or he was lying or... Well, I suppose things aren't as dire as I'd convinced myself they were."

"Cas found you?" It's harsh, but he doesn't care about whatever worries Sam might have harbored. They likely were warranted, especially if Cas at all showed him what he is, but they  _ do not matter _ because now he has a tangible link to Cas, one that's more recent than when he last saw him a few weeks ago. "Is he alright? Is he with you? Is that how you found me? Did he tell you—" He stops short. "How the fuck did he tell you anything? He can't talk."

Sam grimaces. "He sure tried."

"... What, did he think you would magically have better ears than me that wouldn't bleed?" He's actually offended, though the knowledge that his brother  _ can't _ understand Cas' true voice any better than he can is actually soothing. He doesn't know if he could stand the jealousy that would come with having to talk through Sam if that were the case. "How'd he even  _ find _ you? I told him about you, but other than calling you a sasquatch named Sam with long hair and telling him stories about us as kids, I don't know how he could've possibly pieced together enough to track you down."

"You think _ I  _ know? I only know this terrifying sea creature knocks on my cabin window one night, clinging to the side of my ship, and starts humming all of your favorite songs. I would've shot him if he hadn't started with the lullaby mom sang us. All my other leads had dried up... this was the most frightening way I could have gotten another one, but obviously I gave him a chance."

"Did you just let him lead your entire ship vaguely in this direction with the hope he was leading you to me?"

"... Basically?" 

Dean gives him an unimpressed look.

"What!?" Sam says defensively. "When you put it like that, it sounds ridiculous—"

"Put it in a way that doesn't sound ridiculous. I dare you."

Never one to back down from a challenge, Sam takes a deep breath. "I had a hunch, I wanted to find my brother, and  _ Cas _ as you call him is clearly in love with you."

Dean blinks. "I'm sorry, but what?"

"He climbed my ship every damn night and made me talk about you until I was too tired to even keep my eyes open."

" _ How _ did you even know that's what he wanted? You could've been projecting—"

Ignoring him, Sam goes to his desk. He digs through the top drawer, the sound of rustling paper making Dean's heart skip a beat. 

"He can't talk," Sam says and hands over a slightly crinkled but neatly folded piece of parchment. "But he can draw pretty well." 

Dean balks at the drawing. It's him, detailed down to the last freckle, the last strand of hair in his beard, every grain of sand sticking to his shoulders, the shading of his tan and sunburns... It's him as only Cas could have possibly seen him, ragged but somehow, through Cas' eyes at least, beautiful. 

"He drew this?" he says around the lump in his throat.

"That and about a hundred others." Sam passes a few more over. They're all clearly Dean, all clearly the island.

... And a few very clearly show the roundness of his belly. No wonder Sam was eyeing him suspiciously.

Dean carefully re-folds them and gives them back to Sam. "Would it be crazy if I said I love him back?"

"Yeah maybe, but this whole mess is crazy, so it's not like I'm surprised." An awkward cough. "We gonna... uh... talk about the egg...?"

"How do you know about the egg?" Dean's voice is strangled. He never planned on hiding it—how  _ could _ he from Sam of all people—but it wasn't exactly a topic he wanted to discuss on day one. 

"I wasn't sure until you said that—" He dodges the pillow Dean throws at him. "—but he did draw it at one point. If he thought our progress was too slow, he would whistle and urgently draw you over and over, and a few times he drew an egg, so I thought... Actually, no, I'm not going to say I  _ thought _ anything. I had time to  _ speculate _ , and aside from some sort of elaborate, siren-like plan of luring my whole crew to our deaths, you having an egg inside of you didn't seem any more outlandish."

Dean's not sure what to say. The burden of telling Sam about the egg is gone, and it should be a relief, but it makes the reality of it hit him hard. Because now, instead of getting past Sam's incredulity, he has to jump right to seeing if his brother approves or not. 

"Dean?"

Sam's expression is full of concern, and Dean swallows his fears. He can do this.

"Yeah?"

"The egg..." Sam seems equally clueless how to proceed. Dean can practically smell his unease, and it actually helps. 

Big brother instincts take over, and he says, "How you feel about becoming an uncle?"

Sam's eyes go wide, like he hadn't put that together yet. "I don't know, actually. Fine? Good? If he's at all like Cas, or you for that matter, I can probably handle it. Do you uh... do you know if the baby's going to be like you or Cas...?"

"Not a clue. I don't think Cas knows, either. One or the other." He can't help but smile. He likes imagining both possibilities, mostly because he likes two particular mentally images: an octo baby clinging to him with both arms and tentacles, or Cas being utterly confounded by a human child learning to walk. 

"How do you feel about becoming a dad?" Sam asks. 

"It's a shock to the system, not going to lie. I never really found someone to be with that I'd want around the rest of my life, y'know? And when I was stuck on the island, all my plans for the future kind of went out the window anyway." He waves a hand dismissively. He doesn't want those plans anymore, anyway. His whole world shifted when he met Cas, so obviously a re-write is in order. Now it's just a re-write where he's going home and there's a baby. Fucking crazy. 

"The real question," Sam says with a teasing look in his eyes, "is how is mom going to take being a grandma."

Dean can't contain a full body laugh. Their mother's good with kids, and she'd do her damnedest to navigate a potential octo grandchild, but damn if it isn't funny imagining it. 

"Considering she was the first female admiral in the navy? I think she'll take it in stride."

Sam laughs along with him. It feels good, having his brother and his life back. He'd resigned himself to not having any of this again, so it feels doubly good to have it back. 

"Thanks for coming after me," Dean says. "You know I don't like this touchy feely bullshit, but thanks. I owe you one."

"I had an octopus man climbing on the side of my ship, Dean. Climbing through my window as much as he could fit, whistling and singing and stealing paper at all hours of the night. You owe me way more than one."

"Fair," he concedes. He owes Sam his life, but they've both been in sticky situations before and rescued each other. Granted, not on this scale. This is... completely beyond any of that. Still, Dean appreciates his brother putting up with all of this and most importantly for trusting Cas instead of trying to shoot him on sight. "I owe you a few. Feel free to collect whenever you want."

A shit eating grin spreads along his face. "Even if I want to, say, name your unborn child?"

"... As long as you remember that it's your niece or nephew and don't pick some atrocious name just to fuck with me."

Sam looks mildly disappointment. "Yeah, alright."

There's the sound of loud footsteps from outside the cabin. Dean makes sure the cloak is in place before a loud knock practically shakes the door.

"Captain?" calls the muffled voice.

"On my way." Sam gives his brother an apologetic look. "I should get the crew ready to sail out. The sooner we get you home, the better. Stay in here, I'll have some food sent down later."

Dean nods. He loves being on deck, feeling the salty breeze and hearing the waves crash against the boat, but he understands the need for discretion. Sam's crew has already had to deal with Cas' haunting melodies and Sam's hunt for Dean; asking them to deal with the pregnancy on top of that is far too much. 

Before Sam can leave, though, Dean asks in a rush, "What about Cas? You said he led you here. Is he close? Will I see him?"

Sam shrugs. "He lead me here. Saw him last night and knew we had to be close. He was very excited and wouldn't stop singing that damn lullaby." His exasperation is fond, and Dean's heart feels warm; good to know Sam and Cas get along. "He doesn't come until late, though. Well after sunset, when it's just the night crew. I wouldn't expect him before then. If he was willing to bother  _ me _ every night, I'm sure you can  _ definitely _ expect him to come see  _ you _ ."

With that reassurance, Sam leaves him alone. 

There's not a whole lot to do, alone in the cabin, and after a futile attempt to look at the window and find Cas in the water, he settles into the bed. It's so damn soft that he falls asleep almost instantly, lulled under by the gentle sway of the ship. 

He's going home.


	9. Chapter 9

When he wakes, Dean's immediately on edge. He doesn't know where he is or what woke him. It's dark, he's alone, the air is not the fresh beach air he's grown accustomed to. It's wrong wrong  _ wrong _ and he grips the sheets in a panic.

Sheets. Unnatural darkness from a roof overhead and walls around him, not the darkness of a moonless night. 

The ship. He's on Sam's ship. He's safe. 

It still takes a few deep breaths to force himself to calm down. Finger by finger, he releases his iron grip on the blankets. It is dark, but as his eyes adjust to the faint light from the window, he's able to find a candle and matches. 

There's food on the table—bread, cheese, honey, and a very poor attempt at fresh baked pie, really only a small snack, but Dean's mouth watering at these delicacies—and his stomach growls. 

"Hold your horses," he tells himself. "First thing's first."

He goes to the window, locked from the inside, and flings it open. It's barely past sunset, he thinks as he spots a slight purple hue marking the horizon. Too early, then. 

Even though he doubts Cas will show up so soon (and a part of him still fears he might never see Cas again), Dean leaves the window open. He whistles one of the melodies Cas would sing him and hopes the wind will carry it, then he settles in at Sam's desk to enjoy his food.

Dean can't help but glance at the window every few minutes. He knows better, knows that Cas is smart enough to wait for the cover of night. It doesn't make him any less impatient. It's been  _ weeks _ and he thinks he's earned this reunion. 

After he finishes eating, he moves on to the multitude of drawings Cas left behind. Sam wasn't kidding, there are dozens, all of Dean, the island, the egg. There's a rough, half-abandoned sketch of Sam that's rather impressive, and it amuses him to no end picturing Cas starting it and then growing bored and returning to Dean's likeness. He's inspecting a drawing of himself, one that focuses on his feet and bowed legs, when he hears a splash from outside. 

Eagerly, he abandons the parchment and rushes to the window— 

Cas' head pops through the window before Dean can reach it, and he wants to cry he's so damn happy to see him. 

"Cas!" Dean rushes the last few steps and throws his arms around his neck. Cas chatters with clicks and whistles, a tentacle pushing through the small hole to snake around Dean's arm; he squeezes gently, a wonderful reassurance that he's  _ here _ . 

Dean drinks in the contact for a few more moments before he pulls away. "You asshole!" he scolds. It's an effort to keep the grin off his face and his tone stern—the only ways to let know Cas he is actually pissed—because all he wants to do is drink in the sight of Cas. "You fucking  _ left me _ for weeks! What the hell!?"

Cas hangs his head (as much as he can through the window, barely big enough for his head). He whistles sadly. 

Mollified, Dean goes back in to kiss him, deep and tender and ever mindful of his sharp teeth. 

He pulls away and presses their foreheads together. "Don't ever do that again," he whispers. "You understand me?"

Cas nods. 

"Good." Another kiss, this one as a reward. "And thank you, for finding Sam and bringing him. It means a lot to me."

Cas waves his tentacle dismissively.  _ Of course. _

"You're... you're going to stay, right? With me? I know that I've left the island and I don't know if that's where you planned to stay, but my family has a home on the water. I know it's not your home, not yet, but I—"

Cas puts his tentacle to Dean's lips. Obediently, Dean shuts up and waits. 

A second tentacle wiggles in. Emphatically, he points one to himself, one at Dean, and then links the two tentacles together. 

He hates how his eyes already sting with unshed tears. 

"Yeah yeah, you sap. I love you, too. Glad you're sticking it out with me." 

Cas actually rolls his eyes, as if there were no where else he could ever be besides right at Dean's side. 

"Real cocky for the guy who  _ left me _ without explaining what he was doing. For  _ weeks _ , Cas.  _ Weeks _ ."

Before Cas can worry that Dean is actually angry, he muffs Cas' hair. He traces his hand down Cas' face to tilt his chin up. 

"I forgive you, so I'm gonna drop it, 'kay?" He waits for Cas to blink in acknowledgement. "I just need you to not leave like that without warning. It's a big ocean, lots of things out there scarier than you. I don't want to spend my nights worrying you got swallowed by a whale or something." 

Cas flashes him a look of utter consternation at that. 

"Fine. Not a whale. A shark."

Cas shakes his head, rolls his eyes, and pats Dean indulgently with a tentacle. 

"Oooh, someone's full of himself. Seriously, Cas, I'm gonna worry. I know what life on the surface looks like. I didn't even know creatures like  _ you _ existed until a few months ago. If you're out of my sight too long, I'm going to assume the worst. Don't put me through that."

This time, Cas uses his tentacles to bring Dean forward to hug him. It's a silent promise, and Dean accepts it. 

"Good. Now sing me to sleep, would ya? I've missed hearing you and this day's been fucking exhausting."

As always, Cas obliges. 

~ ~ ~

The voyage lasts nearly a week and a half. Dean gets more anxious with each day, more claustrophobic in the damn cabin and more eager to get his hands on Cas.  _ All _ of Cas, more than what can fit through the damn port window. Sure, there's room enough for Cas' cock, but still. Dean wants the whole package. 

Even their arrival at the mainland doesn't bring an end to the whole ordeal. There's the business of docking, avoiding the crew as they go ashore, and finding transportation back to the small fishing village Dean and Sam call home. It also means saying good-bye to Cas for the time being, since the journey is best taken by land. Dean makes Cas memorize a map with the path there, has him draw it from memory several times just in case, before he's willing to make the trip himself. 

"He found me on the open ocean, Dean," Sam points out when he sees Dean looking longingly out their carriage window. "He can follow the shoreline to find us. Honestly, I think you'd have to stay away from the coast and every river, lake, or pond for the rest of your life if you ever wanted to get away from him. He's as stubborn as you are." 

Dean gives him the finger.... even if he does find comfort in Sam's words. 

When they do arrive, Dean practically leaps from the carriage. It's up to Sam to settle the bill and grab their paltry luggage and supplies. Not that Dean cares, he's got somewhere he needs to be.

He makes a beeline for the shore. Past the wooden house he grew up in, the gardens he tended under his mother's watchful eye, the small dock he watched his father build and tend. Right to the water. He only pauses to take off his boots and throw them aside, then he's wading right into it. The waves lap at his knees and he wants to whistle, to call out, but his mouth is too dry. 

Thankfully, he doesn't need to. A splash next to the dock draws his eyes, and there's Cas hiding under the beams. 

"Thank fuck," Dean laughs. He has to swim to get to the deeper end where Cas lurks. Tentacles reach him first and pull him in, making the last few feet nothing at all. "Missed this," Dean says with a sigh, melting into Cas' embrace. 

Cas whistles and hums soothingly. A hand rests on the egg, another on Dean's back, and yeah, life is good. 

Life is very very good.

— fin — 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the end of the story proper, but I have an epilogue and also want to include a Cas POV chapter. Which one goes up first will depend on if I find time to write the Cas part before Monday lol


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the epilogue :) there is a cas pov coming and i have started it, but since i'll be both writing and then editing it, i can't make any promises to when it's posted

**Epilogue**

  * The egg hatches within a month of Dean's return home. Dean feels the actual hatching start, feels the hardness of it give away and split inside him. He has a moment of wonder before the pain starts.  
  
Sam gets there first, only because Dean's in the house. He rushes Dean outside, growing more confident when each stride that Dean's going to break his hand. They meet Cas halfway. He looks urgent, nervous, all clicks and twitchy tentacles.  
  
"What do we do?" Sam asks. Dean's grateful Sam asks, because he can't say a damn thing, and they have no idea how this process works, it's so foreign to then despite the similarities.  
  
Cas takes over and brings Dean to the water. Water birth, then.  
  
As soon as he's waist deep, floating there and leaning back against Cas, the pain is almost manageable.  
  
The process takes hours, but Cas is there to sing and massage and soothe.  
  
When it's all over, they have a beautiful baby octo son. They name him Jack.  
  

  * Mary was at sea during all this. Imagine her surprise when she comes back to find her son is back, alive and well, and a parent... and in love with a strange octopus man.  
  
She takes it in stride, though, and dotes upon her grandson.  
  

  * The boys are only marginally disappointed their mom isn’t more shocked.  
  
  

  * Jack is very much like Cas, and Dean loves seeing them splash together in the water. He learns to swim easily, learns to whistle and sing. He also loves to climb up Dean and perch on his shoulders to go around on land. He’s as weak to the air as Cas, though, and ends up in the water sooner or later.  
  
As time passes, Dean feels the call of the sea. He loves his family and being at home, but he misses being on a ship.  
  
Cas wordlessly encourages him to go back.  
  
It takes time to find a governess that they can trust and that will suit their needs. Jack is so... unique, and a wrong choice could prove devastating.   
  
When they find Miss Bradbury, they know things will be fine.  
  

  * Dean gets a new commission and insists on choosing every single member of his crew himself. Cas comes with him at sea, slipping into Dean's cabin at night—Dean also insists on a large window—and helping him navigate through treacherous passes and bad weather. Cas will also disappear for long periods, always going home to check on Jack, who is simply too young to be with them in the open sea.  
  
They hide it, of course, but the crew has their suspicions.  
  

  * They return home for Jack's first birthday, the whole family and Miss Bradbury (who is a part of the family now, anyway) come to celebrate. They're surprised when Sam arrives when a guest... and the announcement of his engagement to his first officer, Miss Leahy.   
  
Eileen is a welcome addition, charming them all and graciously not commenting on Cas or Jack as anything out of the ordinary.  
  

  * The family of course starts learning to sign and oh! Dean and Cas' eyes go wide as they realize at the same time. They become Eileen's most eager pupils and soon they can actually _talk_ to each other.   
  
Dean nearly cries from happiness... though it turns out Cas is a sarcastic, snarky little shit. He's not actually surprised, and maybe kind of loves it.  
  
They obviously teach Jack as well.  
  

  * After five years, the crew corners Dean and tells him they know about Cas. Benny's the one who breaks it to him and assures Dean he doesn't have to hide. Cas becomes a member of the crew wherever they're at sea, swimming alongside or coming up on deck.   
  
When Jack's old enough, they decide he'll join them. Miss Bradbury, too, because none of them want to see her go.  
  

  * They have another kid. Dean takes leave from his ship while pregnant. It's not that he doesn't trust his crew with the secret, it's more he wants the time when his family, and he knows how draining it can be.  
  
This egg hatches into a precious little human girl. They name her Emma.  
  

  * They build a second house on their property, one half over the water and open to it. Cas and Jack can come and go as they please without worry of being spotted.   
  
Emma loves it, too, because her and Jack constantly sneak out at night to go swimming.   
  
Emma is, of course, the best human swimmer they've ever seen.  
  

  * Basically, the Winchesters are a well known, well respected sea family. They have good luck at sea, they're feared and respected, and most importantly, they're happy.


End file.
